


Stubborn as Shrapnel

by Abyssinia



Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-12-24
Updated: 2004-12-24
Packaged: 2017-10-02 22:12:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Abyssinia/pseuds/Abyssinia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Before long Speirs is sitting on the floor, mumbling incoherently at his boots. Nixon shoots a look at Welsh who nods and they both pounce on Speirs, pinning him to the floor.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Stubborn as Shrapnel

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Yuletide 2004, betaed by Hiyacynth.

The wind howling down Haguenau's streets makes Easy glad they won't be crossing the river for another patrol tonight. In a drafty house that's paradise after Bastogne, Winters looks up from the paperwork he's slugging through - mostly letters to the parents of boys killed or wounded in Bastogne. "How's the phantom report coming, Lew?"

Nixon can't resist grinning. "I think this is the best report the army's getting out of me the whole damn war."

Winters chokes back a laugh. "I bet." After a minute he puts down his pencil with a sigh. "Nix?"

"Yeah?"

"Have you noticed how edgy Speirs has been acting?"

Nixon looks at him in disbelief. "Speirs? C'mon, Dick, think about it. He lives for combat. Probably just antsy because he hasn't been firing his gun or running in front of German tanks."

Winters thinks a minute but shakes his head. "It seems like something more…" A loud knock on the door interrupts him. "Enter."

Speirs looks tired, bloodshot, and a little pale. He hands Winters some papers. "Report from the patrol last night and forms for Jackson."

Winters nods grimly at the stack. "Thanks Ron. How's Easy doing? The men accepting your command?"

"Frankly, they're all just glad to be out of Bastogne. And they don't seem to miss Dike much. Is that all sir?"

At Winters's nod, Speirs turns to find Nixon blocking the door. "What do you want?"

"Nothing. Dick here was just a little worried about you. Thought you seemed stressed."

Speirs looks skeptical. "I'm fine."

Nixon grins. "Well good. Glad to see Easy with a strong commander." He playfully punches Speirs in the arm and is shocked when Speirs visibly flinches. "What's wrong?"

Suppressing a grimace, Speirs gingerly reaches for his arm. "It's nothing."

Winters chimes in, getting up from his desk and moving towards them. "It's not nothing, Ron. Is that blood?"

"I just took a little shrapnel the other day. It's fine."

"Did you get it looked at?"

"No! I'm fine." The slamming door accentuates his final comment as Winters and Nixon share looks of disbelief across the room.

Nixon sighs. "Okay Dick, maybe you're right. But what can we do?"

Winters just shakes his head and goes back to reports. He finishes the report on Jackson and looks up. "You heard about Jackson?"

"Yeah. His own grenade." Nixon shakes his head. "Wouldn't expect that kind of mistake this far along."

"Lew, we need to get Speirs to at least see Doc Roe. We can't lose any more men to mistakes."

"Okay. How do you suggest we do that? I don't relish dragging him kicking and screaming."

Winters thinks a minute and smiles at Nixon.

 

Two hours later Speirs is cleaning his gun when a knock on the door interrupts him. He opens it to find Nixon and Welsh standing side by side, grinning and holding twin bottles of VAT 69. "Thought we'd celebrate getting off the line. Dick still won't drink, but we figured you might like to share," Nixon announces as Welsh limps past Speirs to sit smugly on the lone chair in the room.

"Cheers!" Welsh offers a gap-toothed grin and pours some of the whiskey into his mouth.

Speirs shrugs, and takes the bottle Nixon offers.

As the bottles empty he doesn't notice that more whiskey is going inside him than either of the other two.

 

Before long Speirs is sitting on the floor, mumbling incoherently at his boots. Nixon shoots a look at Welsh who nods and they both pounce on Speirs, pinning him to the floor.

"What the fuck are you doing?" Speirs shouts in surprise, struggling as Nixon fumbles with the buttons on his shirt.  
"Just sit still, Ron. We want a look at your arm."

"Like Hell! I told you I was fine!" Speirs throws Welsh off him and starts to stand up, only to have Nixon tackle him back to the floor.

"Harry! Help me here," Nixon calls out, fighting to keep Speirs's flailing arms from knocking him senseless.

Welsh dives back in and the two simultaneously try to hold the squirming Speirs while wrestling his shirt off to expose the arm.

They start at a sudden knock on the door and turn to see Winters letting Doc Roe into the room. "Captain Speirs said he got some shrapnel in his arm. I want you to take a look." Winters sees the pile on the floor, which Doc Roe is carefully not looking at. "What are you two doing? You were supposed to keep him here, not hurt him."

"We're not!" Welsh says indignantly, turning to shoot a smirk at Winters while still sitting on top of Speirs. "We just thought, well, we'd help a little."

"Is that whiskey?"

The two exchange a momentary sheepish look. "We figured it would calm him down a bit," Nixon admits, looking guiltily at his hands. Welsh just grins and nods.

Winters shakes his head in amazement. "Get off him! Speirs, show Doc Roe your arm."

They reluctantly roll off Speirs, Nixon rubbing his calf where he could have sworn Welsh had bitten him.

Speirs sits up and looks around the room, completely disoriented. "Is that what this is all about? My arm? Fine, Doc Roe can look at it if you'll all leave me alone." He slips his right arm out of its sleeve to display a wound that, while small, looks angry and red.

Roe immediately sits down next to Speirs, examines the wound, and swears under his breath in French. "Captain Speirs, you've got to take care of yourself. There's still shrapnel in there. If you let this get infected you could lose the whole arm."

Speirs looks at the arm unconcernedly. "Fine, fix it up then. If it'll make all of you go away."

Roe digs into his bag for some tweezers, takes a glance at Speirs long enough to realize he's drunker than he's acting and prods at the wound, ignoring the winces. He carefully extracts a small piece of shrapnel, sprinkles some sulfa on the wound, and ties a bandage around it.

"Now you take care of it sir. Keep it clean and it should heal up just fine." Roe gets up to leave but stops in the doorway. "You wouldn't let one of the enlisted men let something like that linger. You officers oughta know better." He closes the door behind him just a little harder than necessary.

Speirs rebuttons his shirt and glares at the other three, Nixon and Welsh sitting sheepishly on the floor and Winters in the corner, trying hard to hold back a laugh. "What are you still doing here? Out!"

Welsh and Nixon jump, and nearly trip over each other running through the door. Winters follows more calmly, but can't resist a final word. "We've come too far to lose people over mistakes. Jackson shouldn't have died last night and we can't afford to lose you because you're too stubborn to take care of a wound. Easy needs you Ron. They've earned the right to keep someone who can lead them." He quietly closes the door behind him.


End file.
